


Come Into My Parlor... (Said the Spider to the Fly)

by IreneADonovan



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: (6 years -- 24 & 30), (in the past and not graphic), (in the past), A lot of kissing, Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Canon Disabled Character, Charles Being Concerned, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles Xavier in a Wheelchair, Cuddling & Snuggling, Erik Has Feelings, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, Erik has Issues, Erik is a Sweetheart, Families of Choice, Hurt Charles, Kissing, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Mild Age Difference, POV Erik Lehnsherr, Prostitution, Protective Erik, Raven Hank Sean and Alex Are Kids, Revenge, Smitten Erik, Tetraplegic!Charles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 09:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20273353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IreneADonovan/pseuds/IreneADonovan
Summary: Erik Lehnsherr is a man bent on revenge. Sebastian Shaw robbed him of his mother and his childhood, and he has spent 14 years planning to take the man down. Charles Xavier, a later victim of Shaw, is key to his plans. Xavier, too, escaped Shaw, before falling into prostitution, a broken man. But Xavier proves to be much more than he appears...





	Come Into My Parlor... (Said the Spider to the Fly)

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to the amazing [Nico](https://chuuzuke.tumblr.com) for the illustration. This is our entry in the Cherik Big Bang.
> 
> flightinflame just gifted me with an absolutely incredible [moodboard](https://flightinflame.tumblr.com/post/187586523222/come-into-my-parlor-said-the-spider-to-the-fly) for this fic. Check it out!
> 
> This wasn't a story I'd planned to write. I was messing around with a new graphics program and created this image...
> 
> I was intrigued by the possibilities, and this story is the result.

Erik walked along the leaf-strewn pathway, wanting to wince as the crackling gave away his position. But he wasn't hunting today. At least not that kind of hunting.

His sources said the young man he sought plied his trade on this side of the park, selling his body, the only commodity he had left. Sebastian Shaw had broken him, crushed his spirit, claimed his soul.

Much as he had once tried to do to Erik.

Erik had escaped at sixteen, spent the next fourteen years honing his powers, amassing other sorts of power, preparing to exact his vengeance, and now he was ready as he could be. He just needed to find his way into Shaw's headquarters, and he was pretty sure Charles Xavier was that way.

He spotted someone further up the path, leaning against the tree, and his heart rate sped just a little. His quarry? A slender man, not very tall, with tousled dark hair. Worn jeans, snug but not skin-tight. A dark shirt, unbuttoned to mid-chest, displaying a thin white cotton t-shirt over toned pecs, and with sleeves rolled to his elbows. Scuffed tan ankle boots.

He lifted his head, and Erik registered luminous ivory skin splattered with tawny freckles, vibrant crimson lips, and the bluest eyes Erik had ever seen, sparkling sapphire with a wisdom born of pain reflecting in their depths. 

It was him. Xavier. The pictures he'd been shown hadn't done the man justice.

He continued strolling toward the other man with a nonchalance he didn't actually feel. Too much hinged on Xavier, and it was entirely possible the man would just tell him to fuck off.

Xavier studied him, heartbreaking eyes turning shrewd and assessing. "Hello," he said, and his voice was another surprise, warm and rich, and with the poshest English accent Erik had ever heard in person. "What's with the white suit? It's after Labor Day."

Erik suppressed a laugh. "Just trying to convince myself I'm one of the good guys." Truer than he'd usually admit.

"Which means you weren't always."

"I did what I had to to survive." Also too true.

"Don't we all." Xavier cocked his head, studying him.

Erik wanted to flinch away from that too-perceptive gaze.

Then Xavier grinned, dispelling the tension that had arisen between them. "So you looking for some fun?"

"Depends on what you mean by fun." Erik hated this kind of game-playing, preferring to slam his cards down on the table and damn the consequences, but spooking Xavier wasn't an option.

"Almost anything you want."

"Almost?"

"No swapping body fluids. And no tying me up."

Erik bit his lip, the gesture measured and deliberate but meant to appear otherwise. "Fair enough. How much?"

Xavier spoke quietly, glancing about to make sure no one was within earshot. Odd -- wasn't he a telepath? "Hand job's thirty. Blow job's fifty. A fuck in the alley's a hundred."

"How much for all night?" He needed to get Xavier somewhere where they could talk.

Those blue eyes widened, blinked. "A thousand."

"You'd take five hundred."

Xavier's shoulders slumped, and he nodded reluctantly.

"A thousand's fine," Erik said. He'd pay a hundred times that to bring down Shaw.

Charles eyes lit for just a moment, then the shutters slammed down and he was all business again. "Right. I expect you want me to go to your place."

"I'm from out of town. I'm at the Excelsior."

"That's a five-star hotel. They'll never let me in."

"They will if you're with me. The staff doesn't ask questions of anyone staying in the penthouse suite.

Unease flickered on Xavier's face for an instant, replaced by a too-cheery grin. "The penthouse? Damn, I knew I should have asked for two grand."

"Play your cards right, and I might just give it to you." Erik felt his attempt at banter was heavy-handed, but Xavier didn't comment.

"I presume you have a car," he said instead.

"I parked on the north end of the park," Erik said.

A slight grimace, and as Xavier stepped away from the tree he leaned against, Erik saw the reason why. Xavier's gait was awkward, shambling, unsteady. Something that should have been noted in his file. Someone had just earned Erik's second-best chewing-out.

Xavier offered him a smile that was as wry as it was cheeky. "Don't worry. Everything that matters still works."

That hadn't been where Erik's mind had gone at all, but then he wasn't actually trying to sleep with Xavier. "Can you make it? Or should I bring the car around?"

Xavier sighed. "I can make it. I'm just not fast."

"We have all night."

"That we do."

"Let's go, then."

"So what do I call you?"

"Erik." He wasn't sure why he gave his real name.

"Charles."

They walked slowly back to Erik's car. Xavier was clearly in pain, his vivid lips compressed into a tight line, and he looked like he really needed a pair of crutches, or at least a cane. Probably bad for business, though. This way, he could hide his disability until the hook had been set.

When they finally reached Erik's rented Porsche, he popped the locks with his power and swung the passenger door open, hands out of his pockets, no remote in sight.

Charles grinned as he all but collapsed onto the passenger seat. "You're a mutant."

"I am." Defiant pride crept into his voice.

"Splendid." Xavier leaned sideways against the seat back but made no attempt to get the rest of the way inside. But as Erik watched, he shoved his weariness aside, all business again. "You need to pay me first," he said.

"Fine." Erik pulled his wallet out of an inner pocket of his jacket and removed two hundreds, a dozen fifties, and ten twenties, counting them onto Xavier's waiting hand. He'd expected to pay for information, but it was still nearly all the cash he had.

Xavier folded it and tucked it into his shirt pocket. "Right. Let's go, then." He pulled his legs into the car, using his hands to help lift them, and closed the door.

Erik circled to the driver's door and got in, then he used his powers to start the car and shift the gears, just because he could, though he resisted the urge to use them to steer. That tended to make people nervous, and he wanted Xavier at ease.

It was toward the end of rush hour, and traffic was horrendous. Erik thought he could have walked the five miles to the hotel faster, but clearly Xavier would have had difficulty.

Xavier had fallen silent, staring pensively out the window, rubbing absently at one thigh.

"Are you always in so much pain?" Erik asked softly.

"Like you care." Xavier's voice was equally quiet, but edged with bitterness.

"I know what it's like to be in pain."

Xavier said nothing for a long moment, then he answered with a sigh. "It's always there, especially when I'm walking, worse when the medication that manages the symptoms starts wearing off."

"Is it wearing off now?"

A reluctant nod.

"Do you have more?"

Another nod. "I'll take it once we get to your room."

"You'll be all right until then?"

"I'll manage." A clear dismissal of the subject, though Erik caught an underlying thread of worry.

It took nearly another hour to get to the hotel, and as Erik started to pull up to the valet, Xavier put a hand on his forearm. "My medication has mostly worn off," he said, sounding quietly miserable.

"Yeah?" Erik didn't understand the problem.

Xavier's cheeks reddened with embarrassment. "And once it gets to this point, I can't walk at all."

Ah. "Okay."

"Okay?" Clearly Xavier didn't expect his response.

"No big deal. I'll get a wheelchair for you." Surely the concierge could make that happen.

And it was easy. Minutes after explaining his friend was having difficulties and required a wheelchair, one was brought out to him. He dismissed the offer of further help, suspecting Xavier would shun it, and took the chair out to his car.

Xavier opened the door and started lifting his legs out. "Bring it closer," he directed, "and more side-on."

Erik did so, then watched as Xavier set the brakes and removed the near armrest. He wrapped his right hand around the far corner of the chair's frame, braced the left on the car's seat, took a deep breath, then dragged his body up and onto the seat.

He sat motionless for a minute, eyes closing, plush lips twisting into a frown. He was breathing hard, and his hands shook a bit. What was wrong with him that would cause all of this?

Blue eyes blinked open, and Xavier turned his attention to settling his legs on the footrests, replacing the armrest, and unlocking the brakes. His movements were clumsy, and he glared at his hands when they slipped off the brakes on his first attempt.

He looked up at Erik. "I'm sorry. This can't be what you expected. If you want your money back, I'll understand."

He looked so dejected, so beaten, and Erik felt a pang of empathy. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not taking the money back. We'll go up to my suite, you'll take your medicine, we'll wait for it to work, and take it from there."

"You're too good to be true."

"Hardly." Erik studied the smaller man. "Do you need help?"

Xavier flexed his hands experimentally, then he sighed. "The medication is wearing off fast. You'd better push me."

Erik stepped behind him, sank his powers into the chair, rested his hands on the handles, and set off toward the lobby.

They took the express elevator thirty stories up. Erik used his keycard to access the penthouse suite that sat atop the revolving restaurant that topped the hotel. Xavier remained quiet, pensive, which was good, given how much Erik hated small talk.

He wheeled Xavier into the suite's living room. The area really wasn't designed for wheelchair access, but Erik threaded his way between two couches and settled Xavier near the coffee table. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Scotch?" Xavier asked hopefully.

Erik shed his jacket, tossing it onto a chair, and went to the bar. He found a bottle of Glenfiddich 18, poured two generous tumblers. He turned back to see Xavier pull a small black case from inside his shirt only to have it slip from his grasp and tumble well out of his reach. "Fuck."

Erik set the glasses on the coffee table and retrieved the case. He held it out to Xavier. "No harm done."

Xavier just shook his head, looking tired and sad. "It's not just dropping it -- it's _why_ I dropped it."

Erik set the case on the table and sat on the couch, so near to Xavier their knees nearly touched. "What is it, then?" He took Xavier's hand, squeezed it gently; Xavier's fingers twitched in feeble response.

"I waited far too long," Xavier admitted. "My hands are already nearly useless. There's no way I can inject myself."

So Erik would have to do it. "Can you talk me through it?" He reached for the case.

"Yeah."

Erik unzipped the case to reveal two syringes and two vials filled with a distinctive amber liquid. "Is this SupprEssex?"

"It's related." Erik must not have kept the disapproval from his voice, because Xavier got quite defensive. "I don't take it to suppress my powers, and it only dampens them, not eliminates them entirely. I take it because it binds to my damaged nerves and reconnects them."

"You give up your powers so you can walk?" Erik didn't bother to hide his scorn.

Xavier voice went deadly quiet. "There are people depending on me. Children. I work the streets so they won't have to. So yes, I blunt my powers so I can walk, so I can turn a trick, so I can put food on the table." He displayed his hands, flopping uselessly at the ends of his forearms. "So I can feed myself. So I can wipe my own arse. So I don't have to depend on others for bloody well everything." His blue eyes blazed as he let his hands fall back to his lap. "So don't judge me when you know nothing about me."

Erik felt his cheeks redden, knowing he'd done exactly that. "You're right," he said. "I shouldn't have."

Xavier seemed somewhat mollified, but his tone was frosty as he asked, "So can we get on with this?" He jerked his head toward the case still in Erik's hands.

"Of course."

Xavier talked him through drawing up the contents of one vial, then directed him to inject it into his upper arm. "I'm not going to try to talk you through injecting a vein. It should still work, just not as quickly."

Erik was grateful. His powers would give him an edge controlling a needle, but it still wasn't something he was in a hurry to try.

He worked Xavier's arm out of his sleeve, pushed up his t-shirt sleeve, and slid the needle into his upper arm. "How long 'til this works?" he asked.

"I don't know for sure," Xavier admitted. "I've only ever done it in a vein. That takes just a matter of minutes."

"Then I guess we wait and see." Erik studied Xavier. "Is there anything I can do to help you in the meantime?"

Xavier bit his lip, clearly torn. "You really don't have to."

"Yeah, I do." Erik looked deep into those sapphire eyes. "I'm guessing it's been a long time since anyone treated you with basic decency."

Xavier glanced away, mumbled something that sounded like "Other than my sister and the boys? Never."

"Until now," Erik said. He wasn't a particularly nice guy, but neither would he ever be unnecessarily cruel, or even indifferent. He knew what it was like to suffer at the hands of another. "So what do you need?"

"I need to be sitting more upright." He was slumped somewhat awkwardly, upper body twisted to one side. "It's harder for me to breathe this way."

"Would you be better on the bed? Or maybe one of the couches?"

Xavier considered. "The couches look heavenly."

Erik moved the wheelchair closer to one couch. "Is there a trick to this? I won't hurt you?"

"I really can't feel much below my shoulders at the moment, so just don't drop me -- I'm heavier than I look."

"And I'm stronger than I look."

Xavier chuckled. "You look plenty strong."

"So what do I do?"

"One arm around my back and the other under my knees."

Erik complied, lifting Xavier from the wheelchair and settling him on one end of the plush burgundy sofa. He was indeed heavier than he looked, but Erik managed. He arranged Xavier's upper body carefully, using the sofa's arm and a throw pillow to help brace him upright. "Better?" he asked.

Xavier rested his head against the back of the couch, drew in a breath. "Much better. Thank you."

Erik suppressed the urge to brush back the lock of unruly hair that tumbled over Xavier's forehead. "Anything else I can do?"

"I could really use that scotch."

"You barely look old enough to drink," Erik observed as he retrieved the two tumblers.

"I'm twenty-four," Xavier protested.

Erik actually knew that, knew that he'd been twenty-two when he'd escaped from Shaw's labs with a quartet of younger test subjects, knew that Shaw had held him more than ten years.

He sat on the couch and held one tumbler to Xavier's lips. The younger man drank deeply, draining nearly half the contents before pulling his head away. "Oh, that's good," he said. "I haven't had scotch that good in more than a decade."

"Talk about starting young," Erik remarked dryly. He set Xavier's glass on the coffee table then took a long sip from his own.

"Alcoholism is a fine old family tradition, and we start early," Xavier said with a wry smile.

"So should I be enabling you then?"

"Giving me one drink isn't enabling me," Xavier said. "Giving me the whole bottle, on the other hand."

"Got it."

Xavier lifted one arm, stared at it intently, but his hand and wrist remained limp and motionless. "Damn," he said softly.

"Do you mind if I ask what happened to you?"

"Mind if you ask? No. Mind answering? Yes." Xavier's sapphire eyes were clouded, troubled.

Erik realized he was missing a perfect opportunity. Xavier would be going nowhere until his medication worked, so Erik could tell him who he was and what he planned without having him run off immediately.

Decision made, he asked, "Was it Sebastian Shaw?"

Xavier's pale skin went ghostly. "You know Shaw? Were you sent to take me back?" He glanced about frantically, dug his arms into the surface of the couch as if pure adrenaline could propel him to his feet and out the door.

Erik unbuttoned his left cuff and shoved the sleeve to his elbow. He displayed the lab tattoo on his forearm and said, "I'm the last person who would ever deliver you to Shaw." Though his plans made pretending to do so likely.

Xavier's gaze was riveted to the tattoo. "You're the Escapee," he blurted.

"Pardon?"

"You're a legend in Shaw's labs. The one who escaped. You gave the rest of us hope."

Erik took a swallow of his scotch, trying to hide his discomfiture. "I escaped Shaw, yes, and I've spent the last fourteen years preparing to bring him down."

"Noble of you," Xavier said dryly.

Erik snorted. "He killed my mother. For that alone I will render him to atoms."

"He's done far more than that." Xavier looked down at his unmoving hands.

"Tell me."

"A story for a story," Xavier said. "My escape for yours."

"Fine." Only if he had to.

"But let me have some more of that scotch first."

Erik lifted the tumbler back to Xavier's lips, tilting it carefully until the younger man had finished the remaining contents.

Xavier let his head fall back against the couch with a sigh. "Thank you. Pour me another, if you would. I'll need it once I'm done."

Once Erik had done so, Xavier began.

_I was twelve when my stepfather sold my sister and I to Shaw. Yes, sold. You see, we were both mutants, so he was both afraid of us and considered us subhuman._

_My sister was only four -- her mutation manifested at birth -- and Shaw was actually pretty easy on her the first couple of years._

_Me, he tortured. I'm a telepath, and he had a number of unpleasant methods to achieve his goals, which centered around extending my range and control. I'm sure you remember how he operated._

_And he never hesitated to use his best weapon to keep me in line. My sister Raven. He'd just threaten to start her training, and I'd fold every time._

_That went on for three years, until the day Shaw informed me it was time for Raven to begin her own training. Old enough to survive his methods, he meant._

_I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of begging. I had known the day would come, and I had been planning against that day. I had an escape plan I thought would work, and the night before Shaw planned to start in on Raven, I made my move._

_Shaw was waiting for us at the gate, with a few of his goons. He chided me for being predictable, told me I'd never run from him again. He was stroking my neck and back, acting almost affectionate. It was creepy._

_His hand stopped around the middle of my back, then he tapped me. Just tapped me, but it felt more like the hardest punch I ever could have imagined. I went down hard, the pain enough to make me pass out._

_I woke up in Shaw's medical ward, numb from my lower chest down. He'd shattered my spine, severed my spinal cord. I was never going to walk again._

_Raven was only seven -- she didn't really understand. She kept wanting me to get up and play with her. She learned, though, and so did I. I learned not to dream about life outside the walls of Shaw's labs._

_Shaw seemed to be quite pleased with himself over my disability. I think he got off on seeing me struggle to cope._

_Turned out he also had a theory he wanted to test -- that the loss of my lower body might lead to an expansion of my powers. And my powers did grow, though correlation isn't necessarily causation._

_But it spurred him to test agents that would temporarily numb my upper spine, to see if that would have a similar effect. Only one day he injected me with something that didn't wear off, that left me paralyzed from the shoulders down._

_My powers continued to grow, to the point where even he became wary of them. He had Hank, one of the other prisoners, an utterly brilliant scientist even at twelve years old, design anti-telepathy devices, so I couldn't enter his mind. _

_He also had Hank develop a fast-acting variant of SupprEssex, "in case of emergency." But when he tested it on me, I discovered it had an unexpected side-effect: I could feel my hands for the first time in three years._

_I managed to hide that effect from Shaw -- it only lasted a few hours, and my muscles were so atrophied that I could barely twitch my fingers. But I did talk to Hank about it later, and he promised to try to make a version that maximized the neural-bridge effect and minimized the power-dampening effect. He knew, as I did, that this could be key in the escape we all dreamed of._

_It took another two years before we were ready, mostly because of me. I needed to be mobile, and it took a long time to regain sufficient strength. I'd been a paraplegic for five years when we began, a tetraplegic for three._

_We managed to hide my recovery from Shaw. I only took Hank's drug at night, so that I'd be back to Shaw's "pet cripple" by morning. My sister and the boys helped me re-learn how to walk, how to do everything, really._

_We might not have made our move when we did, but Shaw forced our hand. He killed one of the boys, Armando, whose mutation was adapting to survive. Quite a marvelous mutation, really -- he'd grow gills in water, armor against fire or blows -- but Shaw found something he couldn't adapt to, even though he should have been able to._

_I couldn't bear the idea of losing anyone else, so we put our plan into action and escaped._

_But the outside world wasn't much better. We didn't dare trust anyone -- what if they returned us to Shaw? We made it to the city, hid in an abandoned building, stole food and clothing. I didn't know how we were going to survive._

_I was out dumpster diving when a guy propositioned me. He offered me twenty bucks for a blow job, and I was desperate enough to say yes. And desperate enough to keep doing it._

_But I don't regret it, not for a minute. My sister and the boys are all in school, and we live in an actual apartment now. If my turning tricks is the price for that, I'm okay doing it._

Charles, and somehow he was Charles in Erik's mind now, not Xavier -- Charles had looked Erik in the eye the whole time he'd relayed his story, but now he looked down, biting at his lower lip, his sapphire eyes brimming with tears. He swiped them away awkwardly with the back of his wrist. "I could really use that drink now," he said.

Erik held the glass to his lips, and he drained it in a few long swallows. "Thank you, my friend." His eyes remained watery, but his chin was set firmly. "I'm tempted to ask for one more."

"I thought I wasn't supposed to enable you."

Charles sighed. "Just the one more. I don't dare drink more than that, anyway. My coordination is bad enough sober."

Erik rose, returned to the bar. "Is the medication working yet?"

Charles lifted his right arm, turned it so his hand was palm-up, stared at it in intense concentration. After a moment, his fingers curled weakly. "It seems it's starting to."

Erik watched Charles' fingers as they went limp again. "How do you bear it?" he asked quietly. "Not just the paralysis, but the knowledge it was done to you deliberately."

Charles let his hand fall back onto his lap and cocked his head, considering. "The paralysis itself -- what choice do I have?" he asked in return. "Nothing I do will change it. The drugs are temporary at best, and I'm developing a tolerance for them. I fear that despite Hank's best efforts, it's only a matter of time before I'm back in a wheelchair permanently. That it was deliberate? I can't change that either."

"And that doesn't make you angry? Doesn't make you want revenge?"

Sapphire eyes blazed. "Of course I get angry. There are days when I want to scream, to rage, to cry, moments where I actually do. I either have to shut down my telepathy or give up the ability to do even the simplest things for myself, and the sheer unfairness of that choice drives me mad."

Charles drew in a shuddering breath. "But I really don't see the point of revenge. It's not as if it will change anything."

"You don't want justice?" Erik couldn't hide his incredulity.

"Justice?" The word had a bitter edge. "Justice is meaningless. A way to make petty revenge seem noble. A way for society to legally unleash its bloodlust."

Erik had been driven by revenge for nearly two decades. "Surely you don't really believe that."

Those blue eyes stared at him, sad and wise. "I'm afraid I do. Punishing Shaw will not undo what he's done to me, to you, to anyone."

"Then you won't help me bring him down?" Not good -- Xavier held a significant role in Erik's plans.

Those crimson lips curved into a soft smile. "I didn't say that, my friend. Shaw is a monster, and he needs to be stopped. I trust you have a plan."

"I do."

"Good. You can tell me about it after you tell me how you escaped."

Erik resisted the urge to sigh. "I should have known you wouldn't forget." His smile was wry but genuine.

"Never." Charles' grin was quick, easy.

Erik returned to the couch, bringing both Charles' drink and the bottle with him.

Charles arched a brow and nodded toward the bottle.

"For me," Erik said as he settled on the couch. He set the bottle on the coffee table then held the glass up so Charles could drink.

The younger man took two swallows, then pulled his head back.

Erik set Charles' glass down, picked up his own, drained what was left. He refilled it, took a long sip, set the glass and bottle down, and began.

_There's really not that much to tell. My father died when I was ten, and things got rough for me and my mother. Shaw, though he was going by Klaus Schmidt then, offered to help us out._

_I'd manifested at my dad's funeral, tried to pull his coffin out of the ground -- I'm sure that's how Shaw knew what I am. He offered my mom a job on his "estate" that came with an apartment. But he took us to his labs instead._

_He used my mother to keep me in line, just like he used your sister against you. But as I reached my teens, I rebelled, refused to cooperate. My control was for shit, but I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of improving my abilities._

_Until the day he held a gun on my mom and told me to stop the bullet. Of course I couldn't, and I watched my mom die._

_He thought he'd broken me, and in a way he had, just not the way he thought. My spirit wasn't broken -- rather, it was thrust into the refiner's fire, emerging cold and hard as steel. I would do whatever it took to make Shaw pay._

_For three years I bided my time, let him think he had broken me. I honed my skills, watched for an opening, made my escape, sparking off a gas explosion that ripped down half the lab in the process._

_I kept moving at first, honing my skills further, learning to operate in the shadows, dreaming of revenge._

_I eventually learned that Schmidt had moved his operation to the States, but I knew I was in no position to seek that revenge, not yet. Shaw's mutation is formidable; he'd have swatted me like a bug. No, I needed to come at him from a position of power._

_I've spent the last thirteen years amassing that power, and I'm finally ready to take him down._

Erik downed his drink, poured another, downed half of that. "That's my story, such as it is."

"I'm sorry, my friend."

Charles kept calling him that. "I don't have any friends."

"Then you certainly could use one."

Erik couldn't afford friends. "How are your hands," he asked brusquely.

Charles flexed his fingers, the movement stronger, though not by much. "I think you'd better give me the other dose."

Erik did so, the process easier the second time. He set the black case back on the coffee table and gave in to the urge to brush Charles' hair from his forehead.

Charles beamed, leaning into the touch. "Thank you."

Erik traced along the perimeter of Charles' face, cupped his jaw, feeling the prickle of five-o'clock-shadow against his fingers.

"Mmn, your hands are so warm." Charles smiled softly.

"Are you cold?" Erik himself thought the hotel suite's temperature was comfortable.

"A little. I can't regulate my body temperature very well anymore."

"Should I find you a blanket?"

"Would you mind holding me instead?"

Erik was a little surprised, but he nodded. "All right." He scooted closer and wrapped his arm around Charles' shoulders. "How's this?"

Charles rested his head on Erik's shoulder and closed his eyes. "Feels nice."

After a minute, his eyes blinked open again, and he angled his head to look up at Erik. "I'm almost sorry you aren't after my body, such as it is." A bitter laugh and a gesture with a barely-working hand. "I would have really liked to kiss you."

"I thought you said no swapping body fluids," Erik said, keeping his tone light.

"For you I'd make an exception." The words, meant to be light, held a serious overtone.

"Then let's make that exception." Erik cupped Charles' jaw again and brought their lips together, slow enough to allow Charles time to say no.

The kiss started gentle, a mere tasting of each other's lips, then deepened into something passionate and primal.

When they finally drew apart, Charles' sapphire eyes were wide, pupils blown. "Wow," he said quietly.

Erik was inclined to agree. Kissing Charles had been mind-blowing, and not because the other man possessed professional technique. He'd actually been tentative, unsure, but then he'd abandoned himself into the kiss, giving over all that he was.

"Thank you," he told Charles. 

"It is I who should be thanking you," Charles said. "I've never kissed anyone before."

Erik froze. "That was your first kiss?"

"Yes."

Erik wasn't sure how to feel about that. Flattered? Yeah. Weirded out? A bit.

"Could you think a little more quietly?" Charles sounded somewhere between amused and annoyed.

"Pardon?"

"When we're this close, it's really hard to tune you out, especially when you're thinking that loudly."

"Sorry." Erik paused. "Does that mean the medicine still isn't working?"

"It's taking rather longer than I'd anticipated, yes," Charles acknowledged, "but we're in such close proximity I'd hear you even if it was at full strength. Your thoughts are very strong."

"Try not to listen in," Erik said, smiling though he was only half-joking.

"Then quiet your mind." Charles offered him a cheeky grin, and Erik found his only response was to kiss those crimson lips again.

This kiss was softer than the first, tender and exploratory. When they came apart, Charles was still smiling, but gently, reflectively. "I understand now," he said.

"Understand what?"

"Why everyone makes such a big deal about kissing."

"So that really was your first kiss."

"Yeah."

'I'm flattered you chose me." To his surprise, he truly was touched beyond words.

"You're the first person I've wanted to kiss." His vividly-blue eyes shone softly, damp with emotion but also alight with desire. "I don't suppose we could do it some more."

"It would be my pleasure," Erik assured him as he covered Charles' lips once again.

They kissed for a while, lazy, languid exploration, until Charles' lips were swollen and a deeper crimson, until they were both breathless and needy.

"I feel like I could do that forever," Charles said quietly.

Erik smiled softly. "I wouldn't be opposed."

"I think I'd even sleep with you without being paid," Charles admitted.

Erik could sense how significant that admission was. "I'd be honored if you chose to, but the choice is yours."

Charles beamed. "Thank you. I don't know for sure yet."

"You don't have to. We just met -- give it some time." 

"It's certainly not going to be until my meds start working again. That wouldn't be fair to either of us." A laugh, self-deprecating and bitter.

"You really think I couldn't make love to you when you're like this?"

"Erik, I'm a tetraplegic, paralyzed from the shoulders down. I can't feel anything. I can't move anything. How could that possibly be good for either of us?"

"I don't know. But I think we could figure it out." Erik knew then that no matter what else happened, he would prove to Charles he was desirable regardless.

But for now, Charles remained unconvinced. He looked up at Erik, his blue eyes doubting.

Erik cupped his chin, looked deep into those eyes. “You’re gorgeous, and a damned good kisser, and someday, when you’re ready, I’ll show you that you can have damned good sex even when you’re paralyzed.” He wasn’t sure how, but he knew it had to be possible.

Charles held his gaze for an eternal minute, then looked away. “I just don’t know if you can.”

He rested his head back on Erik’s shoulder, and for a long time, neither of them spoke.

"Is the second dose helping yet?" Erik eventually asked.

Charles lifted his hand, and the fingers flexed weakly. "My hands are better, not good but better, but I still can't feel my legs at all."

"So we wait some more?"

Charles sighed, looking genuinely unhappy. "I'm beginning to fear this is close to the best it's going to get this time."

"Do I need to take you home?"

Charles sighed again, deeper. "That might be best for tonight. We can discuss your plans for Shaw later."

"All right. Do you need help getting back in the chair?"

Charles looked torn, but he slowly nodded.

Erik kissed him again, this time just a brush of lips to lips, then he rose and lifted him, carrying him to the wheelchair and setting him in it.

Charles had regained enough control of his upper body to reach down and settle his legs on the foot plates, but he nodded assent when Erik asked if he needed a push, though Erik could see he detested the necessity.

Getting Charles into the more-cramped quarters of the car proved awkward. Erik knocked his head against the frame, but Charles remained unscathed.

Getting the wheelchair in was impossible unless Erik folded the frame over on itself, and maybe not even then. Erik was contemplating the wisdom (or lack thereof) of floating the chair behind them for the duration of the ride when Charles said, "I've one at home. You'll just have to fetch it once we're there."

"Okay." Erik returned the wheelchair to the concierge desk, and by the time he returned, Charles had managed to pull his legs in and close the door, though he was having trouble securing his seatbelt.

Erik used his powers to guide the tab home, leaned over to give Charles a quick kiss, and started the engine.

Charles gave Erik an address, and Erik punched it into his GPS, recognizing it as not far from the park where he'd found Charles.

It was after dark now, and the return trip was much faster now that rush hour was well over. Erik pulled up in front of a dilapidated brick apartment building, and Charles said, "Twenty-two. Tell Hank or Raven, whichever one opens the door, you're with me and I need my wheelchair."

Erik nodded, exited the car, and ascended the three wide steps leading to the door. How on earth did Charles manage that when he was in his wheelchair? Or did he simply not leave?

He knocked on the battered wooden door of unit twenty-two, and after a minute, a lanky, bespectacled teen opened the door enough to stick his head out. "Hank?" Erik asked.

"Yeah." The youth's blue eyes widened. "Did Charles send you? Omigod, did something happen to him?" His eyes narrowed abruptly. "Did you do something to him?"

"He's fine," Erik assured him. "He's just having a problem with his meds, and he needs his wheelchair."

"Stay there. I'll get it." Hank disappeared for a minute, returned pushing a battered wheelchair, then followed Erik out to the car.

Charles had opened the car door and lifted his legs out. His sapphire eyes shone bright as he caught sight of Hank, and he called his name.

"Charles," Hank responded as he rushed over. "What the heck happened?"

He helped Charles into the chair with an ease born of long practice, displaying strength that belied his skinny frame, while Charles tried to downplay the matter. "I just misjudged how long I had before my meds wore off. By the time we got to Erik's hotel, my hands were barely functioning. I wasn't going to try to talk Erik through finding a vein, so I had him inject it into muscle. A mistake, clearly."

Hank nodded. "That would severely decrease the effectiveness of the neural bridging, the suppressant effect less so."

"Yeah," Charles agreed. "My telepathy is at maybe half-strength."

"Let's get you inside." Hank met Erik's gaze, openly challenging. "Thank you for getting him here, but you can go."

"I'm staying," Erik said just as Charles said, "No, Hank."

Hank's eyebrows quirked upward, but he stood down.

"I'll explain once we're inside," Charles said.

Hank reached for the chair's handles, but Erik held up his hand. "Let me," he said, sinking his powers into the chair, rolling it up the cracked concrete walk, then lifting it up the steps.

Hank's eyes had gone wide again. "You're one of us?"

"Indeed."

They returned to the apartment, which was a bit larger than Erik had expected and sparsely furnished. To allow for easy maneuvering with a wheelchair, Erik realized.

A teenaged girl lounged on the couch in the corner, and the sight of her took Erik's breath away. He'd never seen such a spectacular example of physical mutation. Her hair was flame-red; her skin, a vivid blue, overlapped with scales of a deeper shade.

She started when she saw Erik, and for a moment her form shifted to that of a blonde with peaches-and-cream skin before reverting. She gazed at him with defiant pride and demanded, "Who the hell are you?"

"He's the Escapee, Raven," Charles said.

"The Escapee was a myth." Her tone was dismissive.

Charles looked up at him. "Show her, Erik."

Erik pushed up his sleeve and displayed the lab tattoo.

Raven's golden eyes widened, then narrowed. "Why the hell are you here?"

"I want to take down Sebastian Shaw."

"And you came to us for help."

"I did."

"Us. A bunch of kids."

"Charles is an adult."

Raven snorted. "Only chronologically."

"Thank you for that." Charles laughed as he said it, but his eyes revealed his hurt.

Erik regarded her coolly. "You three know the layout and location of Shaw's American operation. I need that information."

"What'll you give us for it?"

"Extortion, Raven? Really?" Charles cocked one winged brow.

"A fair exchange," she replied coolly. Erik was really starting to like her -- this girl had balls.

"She's right, Charles," he said. "You should be compensated."

Raven rose and came to stand before him. "So what are you offering?"

Erik sensed he needed to tread carefully. "What do you want?"

She tilted her head thoughtfully. "I want Charles to not have to turn tricks to keep a roof over our head."

"Raven," Charles protested.

"Shut up, Charles. I want a safe place for all of us to live, and I want Charles to be free to choose whether or not he takes Hank's drug, and to have the care he needs if he chooses not to."

"Fair enough," Erik said.

Raven looked surprised. "You can really do that?"

"I can, and I will."

"When?" She was clearly still reluctant to trust him.

"You can move tomorrow, if you wish. I have a place outside of D.C. that is more than large enough to accommodate everyone."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

Erik thought a moment. "Do you trust Charles?"

"When he isn't being a pigheaded bastard, sure."

"Hey!" Charles' blue eyes flashed, but he was smiling.

"Then I'll let him into my mind. He'll know I'm telling the truth."

_I know that already, my friend._

_But she doesn't._

Charles nodded. "All right, then." His hands went to his wheel rims, which had peglike projections along them. He braced the heels of his hands against two pegs and pushed himself forward.

Erik dropped to his knees before him. "What do I need to do?"

"Just relax." Charles leaned forward, fingers going to Erik's temples. His fingertips were cool; his touch, gentle.

The touch of his mind was also gentle. Erik's only other experience with a telepath was Emma Frost, and her mental touch was sharp as her diamond form.

Charles' presence was more like a sunbeam on a lazy summer morning, enveloping Erik in warmth. _I won't look at anything I don't have to,_ he assured Erik.

_I trust you._ Erik pushed the relevant thoughts and memories at Charles then basked in the other man's warmth as he examined them.

Erik felt almost bereft when Charles withdrew, and he bowed his head.

"His intentions are genuine," Charles said. "Hank, I'll need my meds -- we've got packing to do."

Erik offered to help, but that offer was quickly declined, Charles offering the explanation that there wasn't all that much to pack.

Erik took a seat on the couch and watched as Hank injected Charles. It took only a few minutes before his meds started working and he began to move about the apartment with the aid of a pair of forearm crutches. He was clearly in pain, but he moved with grim determination, until Raven came out from her bedroom and shooed him over to the lumpy couch where Erik was sitting. "We've got this, Charles," she said firmly. "Take care of yourself for a change."

Charles sank down beside Erik with a grateful sigh. He extracted his arms from the cuffs of the crutches, set the crutches aside, and leaned back with a soft groan.

"What hurts worst?" Erik asked quietly.

Charles closed his eyes, considering. "Toss-up between my legs and my back. Why?"

"Pick one, and I'll give you a massage."

Sapphire eyes blinked open and eyed Erik skeptically. "You can't possibly be this nice."

Erik smiled. "I'm not, not really. Now pick a body part and lie down."

"My back," Charles decided. He unzipped his ankle boots and pulled them off, shed his outer shirt, then stretched out on the couch, pillowing his head in Erik's lap.

Erik's cock took notice. Unsurprising, given its proximity to Charles' plush ruby lips.

If Charles noticed, he said nothing.

Erik set his right hand on Charles' neck and began rubbing with firm pressure.

Charles groaned his approval.

Erik slid his other hand down Charles' spine, but he paused when he felt a thick twist of scar tissue and sensed the surgical hardware embedded in the bone. "I won't hurt you, will I?"

"No." Charles sounded a little annoyed. "I'm disabled, not made of glass."

Erik began probing Charles' back, searching for tense spots, finding quite a few. He began gently but ultimately worked deep into the knotted muscles.

At first Charles flinched and swore as Erik found the sorest spots, but as Erik coaxed his muscles to relax, Charles' soft protests yielded to softer moans of contentment, then to silence as he drifted to sleep.

Erik carded a hand through Charles' silky dark curls, smiling in spite of himself. This young man who had experienced so much tragedy had somehow retained an innate goodness, willing to put his own needs aside to protect his little family-of-choice.

When this was all over, Erik resolved, he would do as Raven had requested, make sure Charles took care of himself for once, regardless of his ultimate decision about the suppressants.

Almost as if she were the mind reader, Raven entered the room, toting several white trash bags that had names scrawled on them in permanent marker -- Sean, Alex, Raven. She set the bags near the door, then turned toward Erik, studying him carefully.

"He's already gotten under your skin, hasn't he?" she asked, her golden eyes too perceptive.

Erik's fingers stilled but didn't leave Charles' hair. "Are you here to give me a shovel talk?"

Raven laughed. "Maybe a little one. Mostly I just want to make sure you meant what you said about taking care of him, that you won't cut and run once you've taken out Shaw."

"Why would I do that?"

"Do you have _any_ idea what it's like taking care of a tetraplegic?"

Only from what little Charles had said earlier. "Not really," he admitted.

"He needs help with pretty much everything. Getting out of bed. Getting dressed. Eating. He'll have a tube up his dick to let him piss, and he'll need an enema to let him take a shit and someone to clean his ass afterward. Can you deal with that?"

Erik knew Raven was being intentionally crude, trying to bait him, and he refused to rise to it. "I'm not going anywhere"

Raven gazed deep into his eyes. "You'd better not."

As Charles continued to sleep and Raven supervised the packing -- Hank mostly concentrated on packing his "lab," spread out on a battered table, and looking scarcely more sophisticated than a child's chemistry set -- Erik began making phone calls. The first to his second-in-command, Emma Frost, apprising her of the situation and asking her to oversee the preparation of his home for Charles and his brood, let her know Charles was paralyzed and that he would get her a list of what equipment he would need. She agreed, but not without a few well-placed barbs. She had even fewer people skills than Erik himself, though he suspected she wasn't quite as cold-hearted as she pretended -- not quite, anyway.

His second call was to Azazel, to arrange transportation. He rattled off the address, knew Azazel kept an app on his phone that would convert it to gps coordinates that allowed for more-precise teleports. He told Azazel to come at nine, allowing the kids to get some decent sleep.

His third call was to the rental company to arrange to have the Porsche picked up.

His last call was to an associate he still didn't quite entirely trust. She'd been CIA once, before going into medicine, and she still had a lot of useful contacts. But tonight he needed her for her medical expertise.

She picked up on the third ring. "Kinross. What do you want, Lehnsherr?" She sounded abrupt, impatient.

"Information."

"I'm not in that business anymore, so piss off." Testy, with just the barest hint of slurring to her speech. He'd caught her after a couple of drinks.

"Medical information," he clarified before she could hang up.

She sighed dramatically. "Like how to patch up a bullet wound?"

"Going to try shooting me again?"

"Like that would ever end well."

"I need to know what sort of setup I need for a tetraplegic's care."

"What have you gotten yourself into, Erik?"

"He's one of Shaw's victims."

Her voice softened markedly. "What level?"

"What level?"

"Of injury. How much use of his hands and arms does he have. I'm presuming he's not on a respirator."

"No." He hadn't even thought about that possibility.

"So C4 at the highest."

Erik thought about what he'd observed. "His shoulders and elbows seem to work pretty well, but his hands and wrists don't work at all."

"Probably around C5 then. I'll put together a list of equipment and supplies for you. When do you need it?"

"Now."

She sighed. "You're a bastard, Lehnsherr."

"Yeah, I am, but this is for a good cause."

"Give me an hour."

"Thanks, Moira."

"You owe me."

"I'm not quite done."

"Of course you aren't. Let me guess --you want me to examine him."

"Damn you're good."

"I'm not a neurologist."

"I know, but you're the only doctor I trust enough."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, no matter that I know you don't trust me that much."

Erik didn't bother denying it. "Come to my place tomorrow afternoon."

"Fine." She tried to sound aggrieved but missed.

"Send that list to Emma."

"Goodbye, Erik." She hung up before he could ask her anything else.

Erik set his phone down and returned his attention to Charles. Even face-down and asleep, the man possessed an almost unearthly beauty. His rumpled chestnut curls were thick and glossy, his skin a flawless porcelain, his shoulders broad despite his compact frame.

The damage done to that slender body wasn't readily apparent as Charles lay sleeping. Erik ran a hand along Charles' spine until he reached the rope of scar tissue then traced its length. The rods and screws beneath the surface called to his metal-sense, the alloy bright and refined. The rods were surprisingly slim, but Erik could feel their strength.

He tried to imagine what it was like to be paralyzed, to have such a large portion of one's body insensate and immobile, and found he really couldn't.

He was still pondering when he dozed off.

He woke before sunrise with a stiff neck. Charles hadn't moved, but someone had covered him with a plush blanket the color of his eyes. Charles' head remained perilously close to Erik's cock, which was almost painfully aware of the proximity.

Erik slid a hand through Charles' thick curls, and Charles stirred. "Mmmph?"

"It's almost morning, _Schatz_."

Charles groaned softly and his left arm came up and pushed weakly at Erik’s leg. He sighed and turned his head, trying to look up at Erik. "Could you help me sit up?"

"Meds stopped working?" Erik asked.

"Yeah. They only last about four hours anymore. Hank's been trying to increase the duration, but he doesn't really have the equipment he needs."

"I'll see that he gets what he needs," Erik said. He would deny these children who’d been through hell nothing that was in his power to grant.

“Good.” Charles pushed against Erik’s leg again, huffed in frustration. “Now help me up.”

“What’s the best way?”

“Reach over and push my legs off the couch, then push me up by my shoulders.”

Erik pulled the blanket off and complied, quickly getting Charles to a sitting position, supporting him with his own body. Then he kissed him, soft and full of promise.

“Mmn, what a way to wake up,” Charles said after.

Erik leaned even closer, until his body was snugged firmly against Charles’, and took him into his arms. “I agree. Can we cuddle a bit, or is there anything you need first?”

“Just hold me. I should be good for a bit yet.”

They snuggled together in companionable silence for a while, until Charles asked, “What is your plan against Shaw?”

“You won’t like it.”

“Try me.”

“I want to send you in first, then you guide the rest of us in.”

“You’re right -- I don’t like it. You want to use me as bait.”

“Yeah. Shaw’s defenses are strong, but he won’t suspect one of his old test subjects, recaptured and sold back to him.”

He could see Charles recognize the truth of this. "Tell me more.”

“A former associate of Shaw’s will turn you over. Shaw won’t be able to resist reclaiming you.”

“And once I’m in?”

“If your telepathy is half what my sources say it is, you can guide us in, control the guards, lead me to Shaw.”

“There’s just one problem with that.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll be paralyzed. Helpless. How will you get me out?”

“I guess you’ll have to teach me to inject you.”

“But that’ll leave me without most of my telepathy.”

“You got out without it before.”

“Barely, and Shaw wasn’t expecting anything. He didn't think I was capable of escaping, but he won’t make that mistake again.”

"But he won't be expecting me or my associates. And once I take him out, getting you out should be easy."

"How are you going to get around his mutation?"

"My associate, Emma, will hold him. She assures me she can prevent him from accessing his mutation."

"If you have a telepath, why do you need me?"

"Two reasons. One -- she doesn't have the range to guide us in. Two -- Shaw doesn't actually want her back."

"She was his prisoner as well?"

"No, she's his ex-girlfriend."

Charles laughed, the sound warm and bright. “I see.”

So are you in?”

Charles was silent for a long minute, then, “I’ll do it.”

“Do what?” Raven’s voice, soft but clear in the pre-dawn stillness.

Charles hesitated.

“Charles?” Her voice was worried and suspicious and a little angry, and she crossed the room quickly, stopped and looked deep into her brother’s eyes.

Charles sighed, then answered quietly. “Let Shaw recapture me so I can guide Erik’s team in.

“No, Charles. Just no.” She shifted her gaze to glare at Erik. “How can you ask this of him? Hasn’t he suffered enough?”

“It’s the best way, Raven. And I trust Erik.”

“You barely just met him.”

“I’ve been in his mind. He’ll keep me safe.”

“You’re going to do this regardless of what I think, aren’t you?”

“Most likely.”

Raven threw up her hands and flounced off, showing a glimpse of the teenager she was.

Charles sighed, snuggled his head into the juncture of Erik’s neck and shoulder. “That went well,” he said dryly.

“She’s your sister -- she wants to protect you.”

“She had to grow up fast, and not just because of Shaw. She had to learn to take care of me, after.”

“She’s a good sister.”

They sat together a bit longer, then Hank emerged, hair sleep-rumpled, glasses a little askew. “I’ll have your meds ready in a few minutes,” he mumbled to Charles.

“I’m going to hold off for a bit,” Charles said.

Hank looked puzzled, but he nodded. “Raven and I will get started with your routine in a few minutes then.”

“Thank you.” 

Hank shuffled toward the kitchen.

“You’re not just doing this because I disapprove, are you?” Erik didn’t think so, but he wasn’t sure.

“God, no.” Charles chuckled softly. “I don’t know how soon you want to put your plan into action, but I need to make sure my telepathy is at its best, so no drugs for now.”

“I know that’s hard for you.”

“I won’t lie and say it isn’t.”

“If it helps, I’ve already made arrangements for whatever help, whatever equipment you might need.”

“Thank you, my friend.”

Raven came out with Hank a few minutes later and they got Charles into his wheelchair and took him off to get him ready for the day. Raven had described his needs in brutal detail, and Erik tried not to think too hard about those details.

They didn’t emerge again for nearly an hour. Charles was dressed in fresh clothes, and his hair was damp. The two younger boys had emerged by then, and the blond regarded Erik with a mixture of suspicion, disdain, and hostility. The redhead, younger of the two, eyed him with wary curiosity.

After a hurried breakfast that Erik passed on, everyone was ready to go. Azazel showed up precisely at nine and rapped on the door. Most everyone other than Erik was a bit taken aback by the man’s demonic appearance. Except for Raven -- she looked intrigued.

They all linked hands, and Azazel whisked them away to Erik’s home base. Then he went back for those sad-looking garbage bags and the box with Hank’s lab equipment.

The boys and Raven goggled a bit. Charles just smiled. “You've done well for yourself, my friend,”

“I needed to learn to move in Shaw’s world to hunt him. Even then, it took me more than a decade to get any sort of line on him. The man’s a damned ghost.”

“Nonetheless.”

Erik sighed and looked over the motley band of teens. “Come on. Let’s find you places to sleep.”

“Do we get our own bedrooms?” The youngest boy, Sean.

“If you wish. I have nine.”

“Whoa.”

Even the hostile boy, Alex, looked impressed.

It was only as Erik took his first steps toward said bedrooms that he realized the problem. He stopped abruptly. “Damn.”

“What’s wrong?”

“All of the bedrooms are upstairs.”

Charles laughed, though his laugh had a manic edge.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. We’ll figure something out. And in the meantime, if someone will carry me upstairs, I can just stay there for a while.” His mind brushed Erik’s for a moment. _Your mutation would come in handy for this._

_Of course._ Erik lifted the wheelchair with a tendril of his power and glided it toward the staircase.

Charles let out a whoop of delighted laughter as Erik floated him up the stairs and set him down gently at the top. His hands found the peg rims of his wheels and pushed himself forward.

Erik was right behind him, with the children on his heels. He gestured at the long hallway. “The suite at the back is mine. Otherwise, there are four pairs of bedrooms, and each pair has a shared bathroom.”

“Can we pick our own?” Sean tried to rush forward, only to be grabbed by Raven.

“I had one of the bedrooms and one of the bathrooms set up for Charles, but other than that, yes.”

“Cool,” Sean said. “Race you, Alex.” And the two youngest boys were off down the hall, opening each door in turn.

Erik massaged the bridge of his nose. Living with kids was going to be interesting. Interesting in the way of the old Chinese curse -- May you live in interesting times.

When he removed his hand and opened his eyes, he discovered Charles had turned his head and was looking at him in amazement. “You set up a bed and bath for me?”

“Yeah.” Erik glanced away, embarrassed.

“When? How?”

“Last night, while you were asleep. A friend of mine is a physician. I had her send my second-in-command a list of what you might need, and then she took care of it.”

A tear appeared at the corner of one blue eye, and Charles brushed it away with the back of one wrist. “Thank you, my friend.”

“You’re welcome.” For once in his life, Erik meant those words. “Now come on. Time for the tour.”

Erik led Charles, Raven, and Hank down the hallway, past doors the younger boys had left open. They were about halfway down the hall when Sean and Alex popped out of one of the last pair of doors. “We found Charles’ room,” Alex announced.”

Raven rushed ahead, but Erik kept pace with Charles. Charles maneuvered through the doorway, stopped dead, and gasped.

Erik studied the room. Some equipment he could identify, like the hospital bed. Some he could not. And some was still packed in boxes. But the room had been almost entirely remade -- he scarcely recognized it.

But what had clearly caught Charles ‘ attention most clearly was a pair of shiny new wheelchairs, one manual, which bore little resemblance to the one he sat in now -- it was sleeker and made out of a lighter, stronger alloy -- and the other electric. He pushed himself over to them, hooked one arm around a chair handle, and leaned forward for a better look. He rested his other hand against the padded seat, stroking it in wonder though Erik knew he couldn’t feel it.

He straightened up, pivoted his chair to face Erik. “Thank you. For all of it. For everything.”

“It’s nothing.” Erik’s voice was hoarse with emotion.

“It’s everything.”

“I’m going to let you all get settled in,” Erik said, changing the subject before he lost control completely. “I’ll come get you all when it’s time for lunch.”

He went downstairs to his home office and called Emma. “Why didn’t you remind me all my bedrooms are upstairs,” he demanded when she picked up.

“Hello to you, too, sugar,” she drawled, unruffled.

“Well?”

“What would have been the fun in that?”

“Emma,” he growled.

“Clearly you made it work. You levitated him up the stairs, didn’t you?” She chuckled softly but didn’t give him a chance to reply. “Relax, sugar. I got quotes from several places that install stair lifts, and there’s one that will do it tomorrow, finish in one-day guaranteed. It’ll cost you, though.”

“How much?”

She named a figure that would have made his hair curl if it wasn't already curly.

He sighed. “Do it.”

They discussed business for a bit, as well as firming up the plans for the assault on Shaw’s facility. Emma wasn’t entirely thrilled that the equipment had been for Xavier, pointed out --rightly -- that it complicated matters immeasurably. But she conceded that he was still the key to their success. They _had_ to use him.

Once he was off the phone with her, it was about time for lunch. He’d asked his housekeeper to prepare something for all of them -- he made a note to increase her salary for the duration -- and there was a pleasant aroma wafting in from the kitchen.

He ascended the stairs, went straight to Charles’ room. Charles was seated in the new manual wheelchair, pushing himself slowly about the room.

“I thought you might try out the electric,” Erik said.

Charles looked up at him, smiling softly. “And I will. But I also need to use what muscles I have when it’s possible. I don’t need to lose anything more than I already have.”

Erik hadn’t thought of it like that, but it made sense.

“Time for lunch?” Charles asked. 

“Yeah.”

“I’ll call the others.” He closed his eyes for a moment, and within a few moments more, Erik heard stirrings from the other bedrooms.

Hank entered first, through the bathroom door.

Erik was surprised. He’d have thought, as protective as Raven was of her brother, she’d have claimed that bedroom.

Charles must have picked up at least some of that thought because he chuckled and said, “Raven said, and I quote, ‘I’m invoking my privileges as the only girl. I want a bathroom of my own.’”

Erik smiled. Good for her.

Sean and Alex appeared next, followed by Raven.

“Shall we?” Erik asked.

“Let’s.” Charles’ crimson lips curved into a smile, and he turned his chair toward the door.

His progress toward the staircase was slow but steady, and no one, Erik included, hurried him or offered help.

Erik lowered him down the stairs then led the way to the kitchen. The kitchen table, which conveniently sat six, had been set, and a covered pot, a covered bowl, and a covered cake plate sat lined up down its center, along with pitchers of milk, juice, and water.

The two younger boys scrambled to claim seats across from each other. Erik pulled the wooden chair from the near end out by its nails and slid it over against the wall, out of the way. Charles beamed as he maneuvered, a little awkwardly, into the space provided. Raven sat so he was on her left, and Erik sat across from her, leaving the other end for Hank.

The pot proved to be brimming with a beef-and-vegetable stew. Erik dished it up and passed the bowls around. The covered bowl held a simple fruit salad, and Erik refused to uncover the cake until everyone was done with the main meal, to Sean’s chagrin.

Raven ignored her own meal and picked up Charles’ spoon.

He shook his head. “Eat yours first.”

She glared at him. “You always put yourself last.”

“I can wait. Bad enough that you have to take care of me. The least I can do is let you eat first.”

“Let me,” Erik said quietly, surprising himself.

“No, my friend, you don’t need to.”

“Maybe I do.”

Charles regarded him carefully, then he nodded. “All right.”

Raven relinquished the spoon to him, a soft gleam of approval in her golden eyes.

Erik’s hand wanted to shake, but he used his powers to keep the spoon rock steady as he lifted a bit of stew to Charles’ mouth.

Lunch devolved into mild chaos once the cake was cut into, but the mess wasn’t too awful, mostly confined to Sean’s hands and the table itself. Charles ordered him to clean up after himself, and Sean pouted but complied.

“You know I have a housekeeper,” Erik told Charles.

“I won’t have him becoming irresponsible and expecting someone else to clean up his messes.”

“I can understand that.”

The two younger boys asked permission to explore the house, and Erik granted it. “If a door is locked, stay out. Otherwise, look but don’t break.” He concentrated for a moment, making sure all the doors that needed to be locked were indeed locked, using his powers to lock the two that weren’t.

Raven watched them go, her curiosity warring with her sense of duty toward her brother.

“Go,” Erik said. “I’ve got Charles.” He glanced over at Hank. “You, too. And keep an eye out for a place you think would be a good lab space.”

Hank beamed and hurried after Raven.

“I think you just made his year.”

“Good. As long as he doesn’t burn down the house.”

“He doesn’t do those kinds of experiments.”

Erik still made a mental note to increase his insurance. “Let’s go in the entertainment room,” he said.

Charles followed him, slowly but mostly steadily, though he swore softly a couple of times when his numb hands slipped off the pegs.

“Are you sure I can’t--”

“Positive.” The word was soft but emphatic. Whatever reluctant willingness to accept help he’d had the night before seemed gone now.

Charles let out a low whistle when he saw the massive flatscreen and assorted electronics. “Entertainment indeed.”

Erik chuckled. “I hardly ever come in here.”

Charles zeroed in on the chess set in the corner. “You pla?”

“Yeah.”

Charles studied the pieces remaining on the board. “White’s losing.”

“Rather badly,” Erik agreed.

“Care for a match?”

“Maybe later. Would you join me on the couch?” There were things they needed to talk about first.

Charles seemed on the verge of refusing, staring wistfully at the board, but he relented with a nod.

Erik lifted him carefully and settled him on one end of the couch. He combed a hand through Charles’ silky curls and kissed him, just a bare brush of lips, then sat down beside him.

Charles burrowed his head and shoulders into Erik’s chest. “Mmn, you feel good. Will you kiss me some more?”

“In a minute. There’s one thing I still need to tell you.”

“About your plan?”

“No.” Erik wrapped his arm around Charles. “About you.”

“Me?”

“You remember that doctor I told you about?”

“Yeah.” Wary.

She’s coming here to take a look at you.”

“No.”

“Hear me out.”

“No, Erik. Just no. I’ve had quite enough of being poked and prodded.” _An experiment. A curiosity._

“Moira’s not like that. She knows about Shaw -- you can trust her.”

“You don’t.”

“Not entirely,” Erik conceded, “but I don’t trust anybody.”

“Even me?” Those wise blue eyes appraised him.

“Again, not entirely.”

“Fair enough. Now persuade me why I should let myself be poked and prodded by this Moira woman.”

“Because I asked you to?”

“Good, but not good enough.”

“Because she might be able to recommend things to make your life a little easier, maybe make you a little bit more independent.”

Charles still wanted to say no. Erik could feel it as surely as if he were the telepath. But he sighed and said, “I’ll meet with her.”

“Thank you.” Erik went to kiss Charles’ forehead, but Charles tilted his head up so their lips met.

The kiss was electric as the previous ones had been, but Erik didn’t let himself yield. He pulled back regretfully and said, “We should talk about where this is going.”

Charle sighed. “Must we? Can’t we just enjoy it for a while?”

“I don’t want you to have any unrealistic expectations.”

“I’m not expecting you to be Richard Gere, if that’s where you’re going.”

“Good, because I’m not. I’m bitter and angry and driven by revenge, and there’s no room in me for anything more.”

“I’m afraid you’ve already proven that untrue, my friend. You’ve been kind, not just to me, to all of us. There’s good in you, more than you know.” Charles set his hand on Erik’s forearm, rubbed gently with his wrist. “That said, I have no expectations of you, unrealistic or otherwise. A part of me would like to see where this might go, but we’re both dreadfully screwed up, so I know it might blow up in our faces.”

Erik cupped Charles’ cheek. “No promises.”

“No promises,” Charles agreed, “but I’d really like it if you kissed me again.”

They lost themselves in kissing to the point where Erik was started out of reverie by the doorbell. He jerked back from Charles, glanced at his watch. Was it really that late already?

It was. “It’s Moira,” he said, unwinding himself from around Charles and climbing to his feet.

She gave him the side-eye when he opened the door. “Enjoying the wares, Lehnsherr?”

“It’s not like that, Moira. All we’ve done is kiss.”

One fine brow arched in skepticism.

“Really.” That wouldn’t change unless Charles wanted it to, and that wasn’t likely when Charles was off the damned suppressants, no matter how much Erik believed they could make it good.

“Whatever.” Moira looked past him. “Where is he?”

“In the entertainment room.”

Moira snorted a laugh then pushed her way past him.

Charles looked up at her with wary blue eyes as she entered.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m Moira.”

A dark winged eyebrow rose. “No title?”

“I’d rather not. This is strictly informal.”

Charles smiled a little at that.

She perched on the edge of the nearest chair, her brown eyes full of compassion. “Could you tell me a little about your injuries. Erik said something about two separate incidents.”

Charles sighed slowly and his eyes closed. When they opened again, he began to speak. “The first was when I was fifteen. My spine was shattered by Sebastian Shaw.”

“Complete injury? What level?” Moira’s tone was gentle even as she probed for details.

“Pardon?” Charles looked confused.

“Sorry. You probably didn’t receive proper treatment, let alone have someone tell you your diagnosis.”

Charles nodded agreement.

“Did you have any feeling below the injury?”

“None.” Charles’ voice was little more than a whisper.

“Complete, then. And what was the lowest point you could feel?”

“About midway between my nipples and my navel.” Charles marked the area with his wrist.

“Maybe T9 or 10,” Moira said. “

Charles nodded. “I remember the surgeon saying something about fusing T8 and 9.”

Moira leaned forward a little, her voice still gentle. “And what about the second injury?”

A trace of a tremor crept into Charles’ voice as he answered. “That was caused by something Shaw’s scientists injected into my spinal column. I only have feeling in my shoulders and upper arms, but I have a little use of my elbows and forearms.”

“That matches what Erik said. Sounds like about a C5 injury,” Moira said.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you’re actually relatively lucky. Your breathing shouldn’t be seriously compromised, and you can likely attain a degree of independence.”

“A degree?”

“Yes.”

Charles asked “Could you explain? Just as Erik commented, “I thought you said you weren’t a neurologist.”

Moira shot a glare at Erik and said, “I did some reading last night.” Then she turned back to Charles and said, “With the right equipment, you should be able to do things like feed yourself and do some of your personal care.”

“That would be wonderful.”

“Erik said something about a suppressant that restores function. It’s not something you plan to continue using?”

“It’s losing effectiveness, and it doesn’t restore everything, anyway. I think I need to start learning to live with this.”

Erik was surprised. Charles hadn’t seemed ready for this.

Moira nodded. “I’ll make arrangements for you to be evaluated by an expert in rehabilitation, if that’s okay.”

Charles hesitated only a moment before nodding. “Please.”

“May I take a quick look at you? Nothing invasive, nothing we’d even need to take your clothes off for.”

Erik saw Charles faint exhalation of relief. “Okay.”

Moira knelt, slid a hand under the hem of Charles pant leg. “Circulation seems good, she pronounced, then she straightened, took his pulse, counted his respirations. “Do you mind if I take a look at your back?”

Charles’ eyes said yes, but he sighed and said, “No.” he looked at Erik and said, “Would you help me?”

“What do you need.” “Pull my shirt up, then I’ll fall if I try to lean forward, so support my torso.”

“Okay.” Erik sank to his knees and slid his arms around Charles’ body. Before he reached for Charles’ shirt, though, he kissed him softly.

“Do that on your own time, Lehnsherr,” Moira grumbled without heat.

Erik grasped the hem of Charles’ t-shirt and slid it up to his shoulders, then he pulled Charles forward against his own shoulder and held him there.

Moira circled to the back of the couch and studied Charles’ back, reaching out to skim the corded scar tissue. She looked at Erik and asked, “Can you feel the metal? The surgical hardware?”

“I can.”

“Does it seem all right -- not warped or coming loose from the bone?”

“It’s all good.” Erik stared at the slender rope of pink tissue -- it seemed such a small thing to have made such an impact on Charles’ life.

Moira slid the shirt back down. “Good. I’ll be in touch.”  
She met Erik’s gaze. “I’ll see myself out. I’ve got a date to get ready for.”

Erik helped Charles sit back up, then sat beside him again.

They fell into a routine over the next days and weeks. The kids were enrolled in local schools, to Sean and Alex’s chagrin and Hank’s delight. Raven had no strong feelings one way or the other. Charles had used his powers shamelessly to get the various administrators to overlook the lack of records, until the two younger boys were in middle school, Raven in high school, and Hank in community college.

Charles spent mornings on Hank’s suppressant, better-refined and longer acting now that Hank had better equipment. He knew he would need to be walking to escape with Erik, so he was exercising as best he could to remain mobile enough for their plan to work.

After lunch, he would return to a wheelchair with only an occasional moment of ill grace. Moira had come through, sending specialists who set up a proper rehabilitation program. Charles was learning how to work with his body’s limitations rather than against them, as well as learning to use various bits of equipment that allowed him a greater measure of independence. The biggest difference-maker had proved to be splints that buckled around his forearms and held his hands and wrists straight. He could now pick up items, like a book or a glass, between his braced hands, and it made working the joystick on the electric wheelchair easier. Charles also used some of this time to hone his telepathy, expand his range.

After the kids got home, Charles would supervise homework, then they would all eat dinner. Erik was finding he actually enjoyed the mild chaos of meals with Charles’ brood.

Evenings, he and Charles would play chess and strategize for the upcoming assault. Emma and Azazel joined them on a few occasions, going over their own roles. One evening they all got rather smashed on a bottle of good Russian vodka Azazel brought.

Raven remained opposed to their plans, more so than ever now that Charles had refused to allow her to participate in his rescue. Charles was right, she was still too young, But Erik had taken her aside and promised she would be a part of their backup plan, should something go wrong. This mollified her, though Erik knew it was unlikely that the assault would go that badly and even more unlikely that Emma and Azazel would accept her assistance.

And then it was the night before Charles was to be turned over to Shaw. Charles was trying not to show his nerves, but his lower lip was badly chewed.

And unbeknownst to Erik, he had a plan for distracting himself. “Get me a dose of the suppressant,” he said. “I want to make love to you.”

Erik’s cock twitched in anticipation. “Are you sure?” Their makeout sessions had continued on a regular basis, but Charles had offered no hint that he was contemplating more.

“Utterly.”

“Including about the suppressant?” Erik was still sure they could make it good without it.”

Charles regarded him soberly. “Erik-- after this is over, I probably won’t take the drugs anymore. So before that, I want to feel you, even if it’s only just this once.”

Erik smiled gently. “Let’s go upstairs, then.”

Once in Charles’ bedroom, Erik retrieved the now-familiar black case. He’d be carrying it when he went in after Charles.

He drew up a dose, knelt before Charles to inject it, then sat back on his heels to wait.

After a few minutes, Charles rose on shaky legs and headed for the bathroom. “Get naked,” he commanded. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Erik rose and began unbuttoning his shirt.

His clothes were in a neat stack atop the dresser when Charles returned, equally naked. He gave Erik a once-over, zeroed in on Erik’s cock. “Damn.” He flashed a cheeky grin. “I’d normally ask if you want to top or bottom, but since I’m only getting one shot at this, I’d really like to feel that inside me.”

Erik felt a pang of disappointment -- he really liked to bottom -- but shoved it aside. Tonight was about Charles. “Lie down, then.”

Erik realized he’d forgotten condoms and lube, so he used his powers to float in the metal tin from under his bed.

“Nice.”

Erik settled in behind Charles, lubed up a couple of fingers, and circled Charles’ hole.

Charles sucked in a breath.

Erik eased the tip on his finger in.

Charles shivered.

Slowly, gently, Erik worked him open, nipping and nuzzling Charles’ neck and shoulders as he did so, until Charles was taking three fingers easily. The tip of one finger brushed Charles prostate, and Charles swore softly, “Now, Erik,” he pled.

“Good things come to those who wait.” He nipped Charles’ shoulder, harder than before

Charles gasped, then he retorted, “I’m more interested in a good come.” The last word was little more than a strangled groan as Erik jabbed at his prostate.

“All right, I suppose you’re ready.” Erik pretended to relent. The reality, though, was that his own cock was hard as steel and aching to bury itself in Charles' wet heat.

He pulled his fingers out of Charles, and Charles gave a little whimper that sent a pulse of heat straight to Erik's cock. He bit back a moan of his own, then said, "On your back. I want to see your face."

Charles rolled over and obligingly pulled his knees up to his chest.

"Rest them on my shoulders," Erik directed, then once Charles had done so, Erik lined his cock up with Charles' waiting hole and pushed slowly in.

It was heaven and it was hell. Charles was gloriously tight and hot around him, but it was sheer torture to hold back, to not just slam himself to the hilt into that inviting channel.

Charles' sapphire eyes had gone wide, his pupils blown, and he scarcely seemed to breathe until Erik was finally sheathed balls-deep inside him. "Oh, _G-d_, Erik. Move. Please."

As if Erik needed encouragement. He began to move in steady rhythm, driving deep as Charles moaned and swore beneath him. He found Charles' prostate, and Charles' eyes all but rolled back in his head.

Erik had never known sex like this. Sex with Charles was as far, farther, beyond any other sex he'd ever had as kissing Charles was beyond kissing anyone else.

He wasn't going to last much longer, and he could see Charles also hovered on the brink. He reached for Charles' cock, stroked it roughly a few times, more than enough to tip the balance.

Charles came with a shout, his muscles clenching around Erik, pulling Erik along with him.

Erik's vision whited out for a moment as pleasure ricocheted along his nerves, and as the wave of sensation faded, he slumped against Charles.

He came back to awareness a few minutes later with Charles shoving at him. "Get off. You're heavy."

Erik rolled to the side, his softened cock slipping out of Charles.

Charles looked over at him, cheeks flushed, blue eyes glazed, plush lips curved in a soft smile. "Thank you."

Erik brushed a tired kiss across those lips. "You're welcome." Then he collapsed back against the mattress, content but bone-weary, with every intention of not moving for a week.

Of course that didn't happen. They handed off Charles the next day as planned. Erik didn't bother to hide his nervousness -- Charles had become so much more than a means to an end.

Charles was in place in Shaw's labs by evening, and he directed them to what he believed to be an unguarded hallway.

Shaw was waiting for them, lounging casually on a chair. "Welcome home, Erik."

"Get out!" Erik had just enough time to shout the words before a plastic dart pierced his shoulder. Whatever it contained was fast-acting, and he stumbled and crashed to the ground, away from Azazel's outstretched hand.

"Go," he ordered through numbing lips. The last things he registered before the world faded to black were the stink of sulfur and Emma and Azazel blinking out of sight.

He came to, head pounding, on a chill concrete floor. "Welcome back," Charles said dryly.

Erik sat up, groaning. "How long was I out?"

"A while." Charles lay on his back on a mattress on the floor, head turned to look at Erik.

Erik's mind felt like it was wrapped in cotton wool, and it took him only moments more to realize it was not his mind but his powers that were blunted. "He shot me with a suppressant."

"Yeah. But only until he got you in here, so it should wear off soon."

"Where's here."

"A room he built to contain you. No metal. He said the walls are concrete, ten feet thick."

Erik swore under his breath. Even if there was metal beyond that within the reach of his powers, it would take time to break through the walls. And be very, very noticeable. "Have you been able to reach Emma?"

Charles shook his head. There's something in the walls that reflects my telepathy back at me. Rather disconcerting." Erik picked up a flash of remembered pain he was sure Charles hadn't meant to project.

"So we're screwed."

"Not entirely, my friend. There's some metal in this room Shaw's entirely forgotten about, and once the suppressant wears off, you'll be able to feel it again."

"What metal?"

Charles looked almost exasperated. "The rods and screws in my back."

"No, Charles. No. There's no way."

"It's the best way, maybe the only way."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You know I won't feel it."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it. Those rods are stabilizing your spine."

"Not so much. The injury was nine years ago. It should be safe enough, and I know your control's good enough you'll barely leave a wound."

Erik was less sanguine, but he nodded. It really was the best of a very short list of options. "As soon as my powers come back, then."

Charles nodded. "Good. But for now, could you help me sit up?"

It was more awkward working from a mattress on the floor, but Erik got Charles upright with his back supported against the wall, then he settled beside him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"Kiss me."

Erik was happy to oblige.

They kissed for a while, then Erik began trailing kisses along Charles jaw and throat and nipping at his earlobes and the shells of his ears. His fingers danced over the nape of Charles' neck, then along the tops of his shoulders and down his upper arms, all the places Charles could still feel.

Charles gasped and shuddered in his arms, pupils blown wide, fair skin deliciously flushed, head tilted back to expose the long column of his throat, which Erik obligingly nuzzled.

Those muscles that could tensed, arched, then went limp. Charles' eyes had gone glassy and unfocused, and his kiss-swollen lips curved into a goofy smile. "Wow," he managed to say, voice breathy and hoarse.

Erik suppressed the urge to say "I told you so." Instead he gathered Charles even closer, running a hand through his sweat-damp chestnut curls.

After a while, Erik realized he could again sense the hardware in Charles' spine, as well as more distant metal beyond their concrete prison, though, predictably, nothing close enough to be useful.

"I can feel the metal in your back again," he told Charles quietly. "We should do this before Shaw comes back."

Charles nodded, so Erik laid Charles down across his lap and lifted his shirt to expose his scarred back. He hesitated, assured himself he wouldn't cause Charles any pain, and as long as he was careful, no lasting damage. Then he sank his awareness into the hardware.

He ignored the parts that were fused firmly to bone, drew the rest into a slender rod that he channelled up and out of Charles' body.

The result was a small mass of metal that he divided in thirds, each about the size of a bullet. The hole it had left behind was barely a millimeter wide, seeping blood.

Erik used the case from the single pillow as a pad over the tiny wound. "It's done," he announced.

"Will it be enough?"

"Yeah." It would have to be.

"Help me sit up again."

Erik shifted Charles around until he was firmly ensconced against Erik's body, with Erik's arm circling his torso.

"Nice," Charles said.

Erik's other hand stroked Charles' upper arm, and Charles rested his head against Etik's shoulder. "Nicer," he said.

Erik agreed.

It was only reluctantly that he turned his attention back to business. "When Shaw comes, can you block his mutation?"

Charles shook his head. "He wears a device that blocks my telepathy. You'll need to use one of those metal bits to knock it loose."

Erik had been orbiting the spheres in lazy circles about the room, his version of a fidget toy, but now he pulled one from the pattern and shaped it into a hook, secreting it behind the half-dozen plastic gallon water bottles they'd been provided, then tucked the other spheres under his leg.

They'd also been provided a box of energy bars, a covered bucket, some rolls of toilet paper, and a box of catheters. Erik knew the last would be necessary soon, and he hoped he wouldn't totally botch the attempt.

But before that became an issue, Shaw returned. He wore an odd headpiece that must be the psi-blocker. There was metal in it, a layer barely beyond a sheet of single atoms, nothing Erik could really do anything with.

Shaw grinned as he took in the two of them, Charles nestled against Erik's side. "My, isn't this cozy."

"Fuck off, Shaw," Erik muttered, silently easing his hook from its hiding place and reshaping it to fit the edge of the headpiece.

As Shaw opened his mouth to speak again, Erik struck. The hook caught the back edge of the headpiece and slid underneath. He clamped the bit of metal around the edge and yanked, sending the device flying before Shaw could react.

Shaw's eyes widened, but that was all the reaction he managed before Charles acted, freezing him. "Hurry, Erik," Charles urged. "I don't know how long I can hold him."

Erik wasted no time, much as he might have wished to savor the moment. He brought up the two spheres and drove them through Shaw's forehead, fragmenting them into shards that razored through Shaw's brain.

Shaw was dead before he hit the floor.

Erik slumped against Charles. It was over.

Mostly. They still had to get out of here.

"He has a keycard that opens the door," Charles said.

Erik approached the body on legs left shaky by ebbing adrenaline, searched his pockets, found the card and inserted it into the slot by the door.

The door swung open.

"Get me out of this room and I should be able to reach Emma."

Not so easy. Erik's muscles were rubbery, but somehow he managed to lift Charles and stagger through the door into a blank corridor. He carried Charles until the telepath said, " You can put me down. We're beyond the blocking effect."

Erik lowered him as gently as he could manage -- not very -- then slid down the wal to slump beside him.

Charles was agitated enough to project the message meant for Emma alone. _Shaw's dead. These coordinates. NOW!_

Less than a minute later, Emma, Azazel, and Raven appeared in the corridor. Raven launched herself at her brother, screaming his name.

"I'm all right, Raven," he assured her. "Let's just get out of here."

Erik looked up at Emma and Azazel. "We need to clear this place out. Quickly and quietly."

Emma nodded. "Azazel will take you home, then he and I will deal with it." _He needs you,_ she projected into his mind as Erik opened his mouth to argue.

He nodded instead. "Bring any prisoners you find to me."

"Okay, boss," Emma said.

"Хорошо," Azazel added. _Sure,_ Erik's weary mind translated.

Azazel extended a hand, and Erik took it. An eyeblink later, they were back in Erik's bedroom, sitting on Charles' bed.

Another eyeblink and Azazel was gone.

Erik kissed Charles' cheek. _It's over._

Charles turned his head so their lips met. _No. It's just beginning._

**Author's Note:**

> There will almost certainly be a sequel from Charles' POV...


End file.
